ad become an "Ace." Before his
first year's service had expired he was decorated and promoted for
gallantry in rushing to the aid of a comrade attacked by five enemy
machines. He entered the combat at the height of ten thousand feet,
and inside of two minutes had dropped two of the enemy. The others
fled. He pursued hotly keeping up a steady fire with his machine
gun. One Boche wavered and fell, but just then an enemy shell from
an "Archie" far below exploded under Guynemer, tearing away one wing
of his machine. Let him tell the rest of that story:

I felt myself dropping [he said later]. It was ten thousand feet
to the earth, and, like a flash, I saw my funeral with my
saddened comrades marching behind the gun carriage to the
cemetery. But I pulled and pushed every lever I had, but nothing
would check my terrific descent.

Five thousand feet from the earth, the wrecked machine began to
turn somersaults, but I was strapped into the seat. I do not know
what it was, but something happened and I felt the speed descent
lessen. But suddenly there was a tremendous crash and when I
recovered my senses I had been taken from the wreckage and was
all right.

Two records Guynemer made which have not yet been surpassed--the
first, the one described above of dropping three Fokkers in two
minutes and thirty seconds, and rounding off the adventure by
himself dropping ten thousand feet. The second was in shooting down
four enemy machines in one day. His methods were of the simplest. He
was always alone in his machine, which was the lightest available.
He would rather carry more gasoline and ammunition than take along a
gunner. The machine gun was mounted on the plane above his head,
pointing dead ahead, and aimed by aiming the whole airplane. Once
started the gun continued firing automatically and Guynemer's task
was to follow his enemy pitilessly keeping that lead-spitting muzzle
steadily bearing upon him. In September, 1917, he went up to attack
five enemy machines--no odds however appalling seemed to terrify
him--but was caught in a fleet of nearly forty Boches and fell to
earth in the enemy's country.

One of the last of the air duels to be fought under the practices
which made early air service so vividly recall the age of chivalry,
was that in which Captain Immelman, "The Falcon," of the German
army, met Captain Ball of the British Royal Flying Corps. Immelman
had a rec